Chapter 21 Chapter 20 Deadline

one The day of the deadline felt like the end of July rather than the middle of June.That day, Ted drove to the University of Maine, eighteen miles away, the sky seemed to be plated with chrome, and his car air conditioner was turned on to the maximum, no matter how hard it was.Behind him was a dark brown Plymouth, always two trucks away, never falling five trucks away.It rarely allows other cars to get in between it and Ted's car, and if one happens to come in, the brown Plymouth will quickly overtake it...but if that doesn't work, a cop in the car It will tear off the cloth covering the blue light on the instrument panel, and the light will flash a few times.

Ted primarily drives with his right hand, using his left only as a last resort.His left hand is better now, but if he bends too much it hurts like hell, and he can't help but yearn for another painkiller. Liz didn't want him to go to college today, and neither did the state troopers who were protecting him.The state police's reasoning was simple: they didn't want to distract from protection.Liz's reasons are a little more complicated.She verbally said it was because his hand was hurt and that he would rupture it by driving, but her eyes were different, her eyes showed that she was worried about George Stark.

Why on earth are you going to college today?She wondered—a question he had to have an answer ready, because the semester was over and he wasn't teaching any summer classes.The last excuse he found was about electives. Sixty students applied for an advanced writing class, twice as many applicants last year, but last year nobody knew that boring Ted Beaumont happened to be George Stark, who wrote horror. So he told Liz that he was going to look at the applicants' files and select fifteen students out of sixty applicants—the most he could teach. Of course, she asked him why he didn't postpone it, at least until July, and reminded him that last year he had postponed it until mid-August.He explained that there were too many applicants, and added dutifully that he didn't want last year's laziness to become a habit.

At last she said nothing more--he did not think he had persuaded her, but she saw that he must go anyway.Plus she and he both know that sooner or later they're going to have to get out - hiding in the house until someone kills or captures George Stark isn't really an option, but her eyes are still full of doubt and fear . Ted kisses her and the twins, then leaves quickly.She looked like she was going to cry, and if she cried when he was home, he would have to stay home. Of course, not for electives. Today is the deadline. He also woke up this morning with dread, as uncomfortable as cramps.George Stark called on the evening of June 10th and gave him a week to start writing the novel about the armored car—Ted never started writing it, although he saw more and more clearly how it should be written , he even dreamed about it twice.He used to dream about roaming around in his own empty room, exploding when he touched something, and it was nice to be free of that dream.But his first thought this morning was, deadline, I've passed the deadline.

That meant it was time to talk to George Stark again, and he didn't want to talk to him at all.It was time to find out how angry George was, ah...he guessed he knew exactly what the answer was.If George is very angry and out of control, if Ted makes him completely out of control, then crafty George may make a mistake and give away some secrets. "Loss of cohesion." Ted has a feeling, but when George allows Ted to write these words in his journal, he has given away some secrets.If only he could figure out what they meant exactly.He has an idea... But he is not sure yet, at this critical juncture, if he makes a careless move, he will lose everything.

So he went to the university, to his office in the English-Math Building.He wasn't looking at the applicant's file—although he wanted to—but because there was a phone there, an untapped phone, because something had to be done.He's past the deadline. Glancing at his left hand on the steering wheel, it occurred to him more than once that the phone wasn't the only way to get to George, he'd proven it...but the price was too high.The price wasn't just the excruciating torture of a sharpened pencil lodged in the back of his hand, or the horror of seeing his body hurt itself at Stark's command.He paid the real price in his heart, and the real price was the sparrow's arrival, and he realized with horror that there were forces at work here greater and more inconceivable than George Stark himself.

He became more and more convinced that the sparrow meant death, but whose death? He was afraid that he would have to risk the sparrow in order to make contact with George Stark again. He could see them flying, he could see them reach the mysterious mid-point that united the two of them, where he would finally wrestle George Stark for control of the one soul they shared. He didn't know who would win the fight there. two Alan Pombo sat in the Fort Rock Sheriff's Office, which was on the west side of the town office building.It's been a long, depressing week...but nothing new.Once summer comes, it becomes like this.From Memorial Day to Labor Day, the police department is always busy.

Five days earlier, there had been a crash on Highway 117, caused by intoxication, that killed two people.Two days later, Norton Brig hit his wife with a frying pan, knocking her down on the kitchen floor.Norton had beaten his wife several times in his twenty years of marriage, but this time he apparently believed he had killed her.He wrote a note, full of remorse and grammatical errors, and shot himself with a pistol.His wife woke up to find the body of her tormentor lying beside her, so she turned on the gas burner and put her head in it.The paramedics from Oxford saved her life and he almost died.

Two boys from New York leave their father's cabin on Lake Castle Rock and get lost in the woods.They were found eight hours later. They were terrified, but nothing happened. Pangbo's second lieutenant, John Laporte, was in poor condition.Two vacationers fought over the last copy of The New York Times; there was also a fight in the parking lot; a weekend fisherman tore his right ear throwing a hook into a lake; there were three shoplifting incidents ; There was a drug-related fight in the pool hall and video game room. It's a typical week in the town in June, and it's like celebrating the arrival of summer.Pombo was too busy to even have a cup of coffee, but he still found himself thinking of Ted and Liz Beaumont over and over again... thinking of them, and the man who came after them, who also killed Homer · Gamazi.Pangble called the NYPD several times—some officer named Lytton must be annoying him by now—but they had nothing new.

Pangbo is free this afternoon.Sheila didn't report anything, and Norris Rijwick was dozing in his office with his legs on the desk.Pumble should have woken him—Mayor Danforth Ketton would have lost his temper if he came in and seen Norris sleeping like this—but he couldn't bear to do it.Norris has had a busy week as well, doing a great job clearing the road after the 117 accident. Pangborn sat behind the desk now, making animal shadows on the wall... His thoughts turned again to Ted Beaumont.After getting Ted's permission, Dr. Humer called Pang Bo Ted and told him that the results of the film were out and that it was all right.Pumble now thought of Dr. Hoof Brichard, who had operated on Tad when he was eleven years old, before Ted was far from famous.

A rabbit jumped out of the patch of sunlight on the wall, followed by a cat, and a dog chased the cat. "Leave it alone. It's an unbelievable thing." It was an unbelievable thing, and, indeed, he could have left it alone.It was obvious that he would soon have another emergency to deal with, as always in the summer.You're so busy that you don't even have time to think, and sometimes it's good not to think. The dog was followed by an elephant, shaking its body, which was actually the index finger of Pangbol's left hand. "Ah, fuck it," he said, pulling the phone.At the same time, with his other hand, he took the wallet out of his pocket.He pressed a button, which automatically dialed the Oxford State Police, and he asked the operator, Sergeant Henry Baiton, from the Criminal Investigations Section, if he was there.Coincidentally, he happened to be there.Pang Bo thought, it seems that the state police station is not busy today, just thinking of this, Henry spoke. "Pangbo! Can I help you with anything?" "I want to ask," Pang Bo said, "can you call the Forest Police in Yellowstone Natural Park for me, and I can give you the number." He looked at the phone number with a little surprise. The information desk got the number, wrote it on the back of a business card, and his nimble hand pulled it out of his wallet as if automatically. "Yellowstone!" Henry sounded ridiculous, "Is it where the yogi bears gather?" "No," Pumble said with a smile, "you're talking about dry rocks, and it has nothing to do with bears, at least as far as I know. I need to talk to someone who's camping there, Henry. Ugh... I don't know if I really need to talk to him, but it reassures me that things are not done." "Does it have anything to do with Homer Gammazzi?" Pangbol put the phone to his other ear, fingering the address card absently with his knuckles. "Yes," he said, "but if you asked me to explain, I'd sound like a fool." "Just a hunch?" "Yes." He was surprised to find that he did have a hunch - just couldn't be sure what it was. "The person I'm talking about is a retired doctor named Hugh Brichard, with his wife. The Forest Police may know where they are--I'm sure anyone who wants to get in must register-- There might be a phone at the campsite, and he might tell them." "In other words, you think the forest police chief is going to take a state police officer seriously and ignore a shitty sheriff." "You are very diplomatic, Henry." Henry Baiton laughed happily: "I'm really good with words, aren't I? Well, I'll tell you, Pangbourne—I'd be happy to help you, as long as you don't drag me into the water, as long as—" "No," Pangpo said gratefully, "that's all I ask." "Wait a minute, I'm not done, as long as you understand that I can't use our phone here. The chief pays attention to those phone bills, my friend, he reads them very carefully. If he sees this phone, I will Think he’s going to ask me why I’m using taxpayers’ money for personal gain, do you understand me?” Pang Bo sighed helplessly. "You can use my personal credit card number," he said. "You can tell Forest Police to have Britchard call collect and I'll log off that number and pay with my own money." The other end of the phone paused, and when Henry spoke again, he was more serious: "You really think this is important, don't you, Pangbo?" "Yes. I don't know why, but it does matter." Second pause.Pangpo could feel that Henry Baiton was resisting to inquire further, and finally, Henry decided not to ask. "Okay," he said, "I'll make this call and tell the Forest Police you're going to have a murder case with this Hoof Brichard. What's his wife's name?" "Helga." "Where do they come from?" "Ford LaMarie, Wyoming." "Okay, Sheriff, now comes the crucial part: what's your phone credit card number?" Pangble sighed and gave him the number. A minute later, he was playing animal shadows on the wall again. "That guy might never call back, he thought, if he did, there's no way he'd tell me anything useful — how could he?" However, Henry was right in one sentence: he had a hunch, a hunch about a certain writing thing, and this hunch refused to go away for a long time. three Ted Beaumont was pulling into the parking lot behind English-Mathematics while Alan Pangble was talking to Henry Burton.He got out of the car, took care not to touch his left hand, and stood there for a moment, admiring the rare tranquility of the campus. The brown Plymouth pulled up next to his car, and two tall men stepped out, dispelling the illusion of tranquility. "I'm just going upstairs to the office," Thad said. "You can stay here if you want." He saw two girls passing by, probably going to the East Wing to take classes for next semester.One girl was wearing a crop top with open breasts and backless back and a blue short skirt, and the other girl was wearing a miniskirt with her back exposed and her buttocks raised high, which made people's hearts throbbing. "Enjoy the sight." The two policemen stared intently at the girl, their heads turning as if on an invisible axis.Now one of them—Ray Garrison or Roy Harriman, Ted couldn't remember—turned his head and said regretfully, "We'd love to, sir, but we'd better go up with you." "It's really not necessary, it's on the second floor—" "We can wait in the corridor." "You guys have no idea how frustrating this is for me," Ted said. "Here's an order," said Garrison or Harriman.Apparently, he didn't care if Tad was depressed or happy. "Okay." Ted relented, "Since this is an order, then obey." He walked to the side door, followed by two police officers, twelve paces apart, who, Tad thought, looked more like police officers in plainclothes than uniform. After the sweltering heat outside, the indoor air conditioner shook Ted's whole body, and he immediately felt that his shirt was frozen on his skin.The building is usually lively, but it was a bit eerie to go to this weekend afternoon.Next Monday, when the three-week summer school program begins, the building will be a little busier, but today Ted is happy to have two police officers guarding him.Ted's office was on the second floor, and he figured no one was there, so at least he didn't have to explain why two tall, alert friends followed him. The second floor was actually not empty, but it didn't make him difficult either.Raleigh Dresses was coming out of the department common room and walking toward his own office, staggering the way he always did, as if he'd just been clubbed, shattering his memory. and motor nerve damage.He sleepwalked from one side of the corridor to the other, staring at the cartoons, poems, and announcements posted on the bulletin boards tacked to the locked doors of his colleagues.He was probably heading for his office - it seemed so - but even those who knew him weren't sure.A large yellow pipe was between his dentures, not quite as yellow as the pipe but not nearly as yellow.The pipe was unlit, and had been since late 1985, when he had a heart attack and doctors forbade him to smoke. "I don't really like smoking very much," Luo Li always explained in his softly absent-minded tone whenever anyone asked about his pipe. "But without having it between my teeth... gentlemen, I don't know where to go or what to do." Most of the time he gives the impression of not knowing where to go or what to do... as he is now .Some people have known Luo Li for several years before they realize that he is not the absent-minded fool he appears to be, and some people have never discovered this. "Hello, Raleigh," Ted said as he looked for the key. Luo Li winked at him, then moved his eyes to the two behind Ted, looked at them, and then dropped his eyes back to Ted. "Hello, Ted," he said, "I remember you had no classes this summer." "I don't." "Then why did you come here on the first really hot day of summer?" "Just look at the profiles of students who apply for advanced writing courses," says Ted. "Leave after reading, really." "What's wrong with your hand? It's blue and purple all the way to the wrist." "Oh," Ted said, a little embarrassed.Obviously he makes up stories that sound like he's a drunk or an idiot, but it's better than telling the truth.Ted found it amused that the police believed his story as unquestioningly as Raleigh did now—at least no one had asked how or why he had put his hand down when he slammed the bedroom cupboard door shut. A question. He knew instinctively what kind of story to read—even when he was in pain.He was known for his hands and feet—that was his characteristic.In a way, this is the same as telling the Popular magazine interviewer that George Stark was created at Ludlow and not at Castle Rock, and that Stark wrote in pencil because he It's like never learning to type. It hadn't occurred to him to lie to Liz...but he asked her to keep quiet about what had happened, and she agreed.All she cared about was getting him to promise never to be in touch with Stark again, which he readily agreed to, though he knew he might not be able to keep that promise, and he suspected that deep down Liz knew it too. Luo Li was looking at him with great interest now. "In the closet door?" he said. "Wonderful, you guys playing hide and seek? Or some kind of kinky sex?" Ted grinned. "I gave up kinky sex in 1981," he said, "on doctor's advice. I actually didn't know what I was doing, and the whole thing was embarrassing." "I think so," said Rawley...and blinked.It was a very subtle blink, an imperceptible movement of the puffy, wrinkled eyelids...but definitely a movement.Ted thought he had tricked Luo Li?Impossible to fool him. Suddenly Ted had an idea: "Luo Li, are you still teaching folklore?" "Taught every fall," Raleigh replied, "you didn't look at your own department's class schedule, Ted? Wand-seeking, witchcraft, fortune-telling, Omens of the Rich and Famous, always popular .Why are you asking this?" Ted found that there was a cookie-cutter answer to that question.One of the great things about being a writer is that you can always answer why you're asking this. "Ah, I'm thinking about a novel," he said. "It's still in the exploratory stage, but I think it will be done." "What do you want to know?" "Does the sparrow have any special significance in American superstition or folklore that you know of?" Luo Li frowned tightly, biting the handle of his pipe. "I can't think of it right now, Thad, though . . . I wonder if that's really why you're interested." Impossible to fool him, Tad thought again. "Oh... maybe not, Luo Li, maybe not, maybe I say this because I can't explain why I'm interested." He quickly glanced at the two policemen, and then looked back at Luo Li's face, " I'm a little short on time." Luo Li's lips trembled. "I understand. A sparrow... such a common bird, too common to have any deep symbolic meaning. But... now that I think about it... it does make sense, unless I connect it with some strange bird that haunts the night .Let me look it up. Will you be here for a while?" "Not more than half an hour, I'm afraid." "Well, I'll look it up in Ballinger's American Folklore right away. It's just a superstitious cookbook, but it's handy. And I can call you anytime." "Yes, any time." "The party you and Liz threw for Tom Carroll was too good," said Rowley. "Of course the parties you throw with Liz are always the best. Your wife is too charming to be a wife." , Ted, she should be your mistress." "Thanks, I think so." "Gonzo Tom," said Rawley affectionately, "it's hard to believe that Gonzo Tom is starting his dismal retirement. I've heard him fart like a trumpet next door for twenty years, and I guess the next guy Will be quieter, or at least cautious." Ted laughed. "Billie played well, too," said Rawley, eyes lowered mischievously, knowing exactly how Ted and Liz felt about Billie. "That's fine," said Ted, finding that Billie and playing well were two incompatible things...but since she and Rawley were his alibi, he was still glad she had come. "If you think of anything about birds..." "Sparrows and their place in the invisible world, all right." Luo Li nodded to the two police officers behind Ted, "Good afternoon, gentlemen." He walked around them and continued towards the office, this time with A little purpose, a little purpose. Ted looked at him blankly. "What does he do?" asked Garrison or Harriman. "Dreiss," Thad whispered, "grammarist, amateur folklorist." "Looks like this guy needs a map to walk home," another officer said. Ted went to his office door and unlocked it. "He's more alert than he looks," he said, pushing the door open. Thad flicked a switch, turning on the overhead lights, and only then did he realize that Garrison or Harriman was standing beside him, one hand thrust into the custom-made tracksuit.Thad felt a twinge of dread. Of course, the office was empty—clean and clean, and now it looked lifeless after a year of hustle and bustle. Suddenly, inexplicably, he felt a strong sense of nostalgia, emptiness and loss, just like the complicated feelings when misfortune strikes suddenly.As in a dream, he seemed to come here to say goodbye. Don't be so stupid, he told himself, and another part of him quietly replied: Over the deadline, Ted.You passed the deadline and I don't think you even tried what the person asked you to do, which is a very serious mistake, and a short relief is better than no relief. "If you want coffee, you can find one in the common room," he said. "If I'm right about Rawley, the pot will be full." "Where's the lounge?" asked Garrison or Harriman's companion. "Across the corridor, two doors down," Thad said, opening the file.He turned his head and grinned slyly at them. "If I screamed, I think you'd hear it." "You must yell if something happens," said Garrison or Harriman. "I will." "I can send Manchester to bring the coffee," said Garrison or Harriman, "I think you're asking for some solitude." "Ah, quite right, now that you realize that." "Well, Mr. Beaumont," he said, looking gravely at Tad.Ted suddenly remembered that his name was Harrison, just like a former member of the Beatles.It would be foolish to forget it. "You have to remember that those people in New York died from being alone." "Ah, I remember Phyllis Myers and Rick Cowley both dying with the police." He wanted to say that out loud, but held back, these people were just trying to It's their job. "Take it easy, Sergeant Harrison," he said. "The building is very quiet today. A barefoot walker will echo." "Okay, we're over there in the corridor, what's that called?" "Common room." "right." They left, and Ted opened the file marked Cum Laude.In his imagination he kept seeing Rowley blinking quickly and imperceptibly, and heard a voice telling him that he was past his deadline, that he had crossed over to the dark side, where the devil was. Four The phone is there, not ringing. "Come on," he thought, looking at it, piling the application file on the desk next to the school-issued IBM computer typewriter. "Come on, come on, I'm right here, on a phone that's not bugged, so come on, George, call me, call me, give me the scoop." But the phone was there, not ringing. He realized he was looking at an empty filing cabinet.In a hurry, he took out all the files, not only the files of those students who applied for the writing class, but even the photocopies of the students who wanted to take the "generative grammar class". Tad went to the door and looked out. Harrison and Munster were standing outside the department common room door, drinking coffee, the mugs in their big hands as small as coffee cups.Ted waved, and Harrison waved back, asking if he was done. "Five minutes," Thad said, and both cops nodded. Tad went back to his desk, separated the writing class file from the others, and started putting the latter in the filing cabinet, working as slowly as he could, waiting for the phone to ring.But the phone was there, not ringing.He heard the phone ringing down the corridor, muffled by the closed door, and it sounded eerie in the quiet building.Maybe George got the number wrong, he thought, chuckling.The truth is, George won't be calling, and the truth is, he's Ted wrong.Obviously, George had other plans.What is there to be surprised about?George Stark was good at intrigue.Even so, he was quite sure—— "Ted?" He was so startled that he almost dropped the last half dozen files on the floor.When he's sure they won't slip, he turns back.Luo Li was standing just outside the door, his huge pipe stretched forward like a horizontal sight glass. "I'm sorry," Thad said, "you startled me, Rawley. My mind is wandering thousands of miles away." "Someone called you, and they called me," Luo Li said kindly, "I must have got the wrong phone number, luckily I'm inside." Tad felt his heart start beating violently—like a drum in his chest, and someone began to beat hard. "Yeah," Ted said, "it's a good thing you're here." Luo Li glanced at him scrutinizingly, the blue eyes under the puffy reddish lids were keen and curious, even to the point of irrationality, which was very out of proportion to his absent-minded demeanor. "Is everything all right with you, Ted?" "No, Luo Li. There's a crazy killer out there these days. He's a part of me. This guy can control my body and make me do ridiculous things like stabbing myself with a pencil. I don't think I'm crazy A victory in itself. Reality is a mess, old man." "Is everything okay? Why isn't everything okay?" "It seems to me that there is a touch of irony in that, Thed." "You are mistaken." "Really? Then why do you look like a deer in a headlight?" "Rollie—" "The guy I was talking to just now is like the kind of salesman you call him to make sure he doesn't come to your house in person." "It's okay, Luo Li." "Very good." Luo Li didn't seem to believe it. Ted left his office and walked down the corridor to Raleigh's office. "Where are you going?" Harrison called after him. "I have my phone in Luo Li's office," he explained. "The phone numbers here are all listed in sequence. That guy must have got the number wrong." "And just hit the only instructor here today?" Harrison asked suspiciously. Thad shrugged and walked on. Luo Li's office is messy but comfortable, and there is still a pipe smell - two years of quitting smoking obviously cannot get rid of the smell left by thirty years of smoking.A framed picture of Ronald Reagan hangs on the wall.Franklyn Ballinger's encyclopedic American Folklore was spread out on Rawley's desk.The telephone receiver had been removed from the cradle and was lying on a stack of blank blue books.Looking into the microphone, Tad felt that familiar, suffocating sense of dread gripping him again, like being wrapped in a blanket that was long overdue for laundering.He turned his head, expecting to see Raleigh, Harrison, and Manchester standing side by side at the door like sparrows on a telephone wire.But the door to the office was empty, and he could hear Rawley's hoarse voice from the other side of the corridor. He had forced the two police officers to talk, and Ted suspected he had done it on purpose. He picked up the phone and said, "Hello, George." "Your week is over," said the voice on the other end of the phone, Stark's voice, but Ted wondered if their voice ripples would be exactly the same now.Stark's voice changed, becoming raspy, like someone watching a sports game after too long yelling, "Your week is gone and you haven't done anything." "You're right," Tad said, feeling so cold he had to try not to shiver, the cold seemed to come from the phone itself, coming out of the hole in the earpiece like little icicles, but he was also Angry, "I'm not going to do it, George. A week, a month, ten years, it's all the same to me. Why not accept the fact that you're dead and you're not coming back." "You're wrong, old chap, and if you're going to be wrong to the end, you're going to be wrong forever." "You know what you sound like, George?" Ted said, "You sound like you're festering. That's why you want me to start writing again, right? Lose cohesion, and that's what you write. You're dying slowly, aren't you? Soon you'll be reduced to pieces, like a beautiful one-horse carriage." "That's none of your business, Tad," replied the husky voice, which changed from a rough bass to a raspy voice, and then to a high-pitched whisper—as if the vocal chords had suddenly failed. —and back on the bass, "Whatever happened to me was none of your business, it's just a distraction, man. You gotta start writing before evening or you bastard's gonna regret it, and not just you Regret alone." "I do not--" Click!Stark hung up the phone.Tad looked at the microphone thoughtfully for a moment, then put it back on the cradle.When he turned back, Harrison and Manchester were standing there. Fives "Who's calling?" Manchester asked. "A student," Ted said, not knowing why he was lying.The only thing he was really sure of was a sense of fear in him. "Just a student, as I originally thought." "How did he know you were at school?" Harrison asked. "How did he get this gentleman on the phone again?" "I surrender," Ted said humbly. "I am a Russian spy who hides deeply. That is actually my contact information. I will meet quietly." Harrison wasn't angry—or at least he didn't look angry.He gave Tad a reproachful look, looking a little tired, which was more effective than angry. "Mr. Beaumont, we're trying to help you and your wife. I know it's uncomfortable to have two people following you wherever you go, but we're really trying to help you." Ted was ashamed...but not ashamed enough to tell the truth.He had a bad feeling that things were going to get worse, and might already be.There are other sensations, a slight restlessness under his skin, as if there are worms wriggling under the skin.There was a pressure in his temple that wasn't due to sparrows, at least he didn't think so.At the same time, he didn't even realize that some kind of mental barometer was going down.It wasn't the first time he felt this way, though not as strongly as this time.When he was looking at the files in the office, he also had that feeling, a vague sense of unease. "That's because Stark, he is in your body, he is watching you, if you say something wrong, he will know, then someone will suffer." "I'm sorry," he said, realizing that Luo Li was standing behind two police officers, looking at him with quiet, curious eyes.He had to lie, and it came so naturally that he thought it likely George Stark himself had made it up for him and put it there.He wasn't sure that Luo Li would believe his lie, but it was useless to worry now, "I'm a little nervous, that's all." "Understandable," said Harrison, "I just want you to realize that we are not enemies, Mr. Beaumont." Says Ted, "The kid on the phone knows I'm here because he just got out of the bookstore when I drove by. He wants to know if I'm teaching a summer writing class. The school teacher's phone book is divided by department. , the people in each department are arranged in alphabetical order, and the printing is very small, as anyone who has used it can attest to.” "The phone book is disgusting." Luo Li said, chewing his pipe. The two policemen were taken aback and turned their heads to look at him for a moment. Luo Li nodded solemnly at them. "Raleigh is right behind me in the phone book," Ted said. "We just happen to have no teachers starting with a C this year." He glanced at Raleigh, but Raleigh took the pipe from his mouth and was carefully Check out the dark pipe. "Turned out," Ted concluded, "I kept getting his calls, and he always got mine. I told the kid he was out of luck, and I didn't have classes until the fall." Well, that's it.他觉得自己解释得过于详细了，但真正的问题是哈里森和曼彻斯特什么时候到罗立办公室门口的，他们听到了多少。人们通常不会告诉申请课程的学生他们正在死去，他们很快会变成碎片。 “我希望我秋天前也没事，”曼彻斯特叹口气说，“你完事了吗，波蒙特先生？” 泰德宽慰地松了一口气，说：“我必须把不需要的档案放回原处。” “还必须给秘书留张便条。” “当然，我还必须给范顿太太留张便条，”他听到自己说，一点儿也不知道自己为什么要这么说，只知道他不得不这么说，“她是英语系的秘书。” “那么我们还有喝杯咖啡的时间喽？”曼彻斯特问。 “当然，甚至还可以吃两顿饼干，如果那里还有的话。”他说。那种事情一片混乱、越来越糟的感觉又涌上心头，这次更加强烈。给范顿太太留张便条？天哪，那是个笑话，罗立肯定在咬着烟斗强忍着笑。 泰德正要离开罗立的办公室，罗立问道：“我能跟你谈一会儿吗，泰德？” “当然可以。”泰德说。他想告诉哈里森和曼彻斯特别管他们俩，他没事儿，但很不情愿地意识到当你要减轻别人的怀疑时，不能说这种话。至少哈里森现在很警觉，也许还没有全面警觉起来，但也差不多了。 沉默的作用更大，当他转向罗立时，哈里森和曼彻斯特慢慢地沿着走廊走过去。哈里森简短地对他的同伴说了几句话，然后站在系公共休息室的门口，曼彻斯特进去寻找饼干。哈里森可以看着他们，但泰德认为他听不到他们说什么。 “那个关于教师电话簿的故事编得真不错，”罗立评论说，又把烟斗柄放进嘴中嚼着，“我认为你和萨奇《开着的窗户》中的小姑娘有很多相同之处，泰德——你很擅长即兴创作传奇故事。” “罗立，这不是你的真心话。” “我根本不知道什么是我的真心话，”罗立温和地说，“我承认自己很好奇，但我不敢确信我真想知道。” 泰德微微一笑。 “我觉得你是故意忘掉贡佐·汤姆·卡罗尔，他的确退休了，但上次我看电话簿时，他仍然排在我们俩之间。” “罗立，我该走了。” “真的，”罗立说，“你要给范顿太太写张便条。” 泰德觉得自己面颊有点儿热。艾尔西阿·范顿1961年以来一直是英语系的秘书，但今年四月死于咽喉癌。 “我叫住你只是为了告诉你一件事，”罗立继续说，“我发现了你要找的东西，有关麻雀的事。” 泰德感到他的心猛地一跳：“你这是什么意思？” 罗立把泰德又领会办公室，拿起巴林格的《美国民间传说》。“麻雀、潜鸟，尤其是夜里出没的怪鸟，是灵魂摆渡者，”他说，声音中有些得意，“我知道和夜里出没的怪鸟有关系。” “灵魂摆渡者？”泰德怀疑地说。 “来自希腊语，”罗立说，“指那些摆渡者，在这里指那些在生者世界和死者世界之间摆渡人类灵魂的人。据巴林格说，潜鸟和夜里出没的怪鸟是生者的先驱，据说它们总是聚集在死亡将要发生的地方。它们不是预示凶兆的鸟，它们的任务就是把刚死去的灵魂引导到他们死后该去的地方。” 他盯着泰德。 “麻雀的集结是很不吉利的，至少巴林格这么说，麻雀据说是死者的先驱。” “那意味着——” “那意味着它们的任务是引导迷失的灵魂回到阴间。换句话说，它们是活死人的先驱。” 罗立从嘴里拿下烟斗，严肃地看着泰德。 “我不知道你的情况，泰德，但是我建议你谨慎，极度谨慎，你看上去像一个身陷困境的人。如果我能帮什么忙，请告诉我。” “谢谢，罗立。只要你别声张，就算帮了我最大的忙。” “在这方面，至少你和我的学生的看法完全相同。”但烟斗上方的眼睛仍然充满关怀，“你会照顾好自己的吧？” “我会的。”“如果那些跟着你的人是在帮助你，泰德，最好跟他们说真话。” 如果他能这么做，那就太好了，但问题并不是他信不信任他们。如果他真的开口说实话，他们会完全不信任他。即使他信任哈里森和曼彻斯特，跟他们谈，那也只能等到他皮肤下那种蠕动感消失之后才行。因为乔治·斯达克在监视他，而且他已过了最后期限。 “谢谢，罗立。” 罗立点点头，再次要他多保重，然后回到办公桌后。 泰德走回他自己的办公室。 six “当然，我必须给范顿太太写张便条。” 在他把最后一叠错拿出的档案放回原处时，他停了下来，看着他那台IBM电脑打字机。最近他对所有大大小小的书写工具都很敏感，不止一次怀疑在每个书写工具中是不是都有一个不同的泰德·波蒙特，就像魔鬼潜藏在每个瓶子中一样。 “我必须给范顿太太写张便条。” 但现在，人们更可能用一个灵应盘而不是电脑打字机与已故的、了不起的范顿太太进行通讯联系。范顿太太煮咖啡总是煮得很浓，浓得几乎可以站起来说话了。为什么他要说那话呢？范顿太太是他心中最遥远的人。 泰德把最后一叠非写作学生的档案扔进档案柜，关上抽屉，看着他的左手。绷带下面，拇指和食指之间突然开始灼热发痒，他把手在裤管上蹭蹭，但这似乎使手痒得更厉害。现在它又开始跳动了，那种剧烈的、火烤一般的灼热加剧了。 他从办公室窗户向外望去。 在道路对面，电话线上排满了麻雀，更多的麻雀站在学校医务室的屋顶上。当他看着的时候，又有一批落到一个网球场上。 它们似乎都在看着他。 “灵魂摆渡者。活死人的先驱。” 现在一群麻雀像一股卷着干树叶的旋风一样盘旋而下，落在礼堂的屋顶。 “不，”泰德声音颤抖地低声说，背上泛起一层鸡皮疙瘩，手又痒又热。 打字机。 只有用打字机，他才能摆脱麻雀和手上的热痒。 那种坐在它面前的本能太强烈了，无法抗拒。那么做似乎是非常自然的，就像手烫后想伸进冷水里一样。 “我必须给范顿太太写张便条。” “傍晚前你必须开始动笔，否则你这狗杂种会后悔的，而且不止你一个人后悔。” 皮肤下那种痒痒的，蠕动的感觉越来越强烈，从他手上的洞口向外扩散，他的眼球似乎与那种感觉同步跳动。在他的心中，麻雀的幻影更清晰了。那是在伯根菲尔德的里杰威克区，里杰威克在春天白色的天空下，时间是1960年，整个世界都死了，只有这些可怕的、普通的鸟，这些灵魂摆渡者。在他看着的时候，它们一起展翅飞起，黑压压的一片使天空也黯淡下来。麻雀又飞起了。 在泰德窗外，电线上，医务室屋顶和礼堂顶上的麻雀一起展翅飞起，几个到校早的学生在学校对面的人行道上停了下来，看着鸟群飞上对面左侧的天空，向西飞去。 泰德没有看到这些，只看到他童年居住的地区变成梦中的死亡地带。他在打字机前坐下，深深的沉入昏暗的恍惚状态中。但是一个念头牢牢抓住他：狡猾的乔治能让他坐下来，转动IBM的钥匙，但他不会写那本书，不管发生什么……如果他坚持这一点，狡猾的乔治就要溃烂，要么像一支蜡烛的火焰一样被吹灭。他知道这一点，他感觉到了。 他的手现在乱抖乱颤，觉得就像卡通片中被大锤砸过后的爪子。并不完全是疼痛，更像是后背中间一块你永远也够不着的地方开始痒起来，痒得你快要发疯了。不是那种表面的痒，而是深入骨髓的痒，痒得你咬紧牙关忍着。 但是甚至这种痒也显得遥远而不重要了。 他坐在打字机前。 seven 他一打开打字机，奇痒就消失了……麻雀的幻影也随之而去。 但是恍惚状态还存在，在这状态的核心有某种强制的命令：有一些东西需要写下来，他可以感到他的整个身体都在催促他做这件事，做完它。这种感觉比麻雀的幻影或手上的痒更糟，这种痒似乎发自他内心深处。 他把一张纸卷入打字机，然后坐了片刻，感到遥远而又迷惘。接着，他把手指放在中间一排键盘上按英文打字法的基本位置放好，虽然他几年前放弃了英文打字法。 手指颤抖了一会儿，然后除了食指，其余的手指都向后撤。显然，当斯达克真的打字时，他的方法和泰德是一样——一边寻一边打，当然，他只会这么打，打字机并不是他擅长的写作工具。 当他移动左手手指时，隐隐有点儿痛，但仅此而已。他的食指打得很慢，但文字还是很快就出现在白纸上。它简短得令人心悸。歌特式打字头旋转起来，用大写字母打出了十二个字： “猜猜我从哪儿打来电话，泰德？” 世界突然又回到它的核心。在他一生中，他从没感到如此惊讶，如此恐惧。天哪，它是如此准确，如此清晰。 “狗杂种从我家打的电话！他已抓住了丽兹和孩子们！” 他开始站起身，不知道他想去哪儿。他的手一阵居痛，好像一把慢慢燃着的火把被在空中猛地一摇，火一下蹿了起来，这时，他才意识到自己站了起来。他龇牙咧嘴地轻轻叫了一声，又跌坐到IBM前的椅子中。在他意识到怎么回事之前，他的两只手已摸回键盘，重新敲击它们。 这次是十一个字： “告诉任何人他们就死定了。” 他呆呆地凝视着这几个字。他一打完最后一个字母，所有的感觉突然一下子切断了——就像他是一盏灯，谁拔掉了插头。他的手再不痛了，再不痒了，皮肤下再没有那种蠕动感和被监视感了。鸟消失了，那种恍惚的感觉消失了，斯达克也消失了。 除了他没有真正消失，对吗？No.泰德消失时，斯达克在看着他的家。他们留下两个缅因州警察看守那地方，但那没有用。如果他认为两个警察就能阻拦斯达克的话，那他就是个大傻瓜了。就是一队特种部队也没用，乔治·斯达克不是一个人，他就像纳粹虎式坦克，只是看上去像人罢了。 “事情办得怎么样了？”哈里森在他身后问。 泰德跳起来，好像谁用针扎进他的脖颈一样……这使他想起费里德里克·克劳森，克劳森插手与他无关的事……因为泄密而被杀。 “告诉任何人他们就死定了。” 这话从打字机上的纸上怒视着他。 他伸手从纸筒上撕下纸，把它捏成一团。他这么做时，并没有回头看哈里森离他多近——那会是一个严重的错误。他努力使自己看上去漫不经心。他并不感到漫不经心，他感到自己快疯了。他等着哈里森问他他写了什么，为什么他匆匆忙忙地把它撕下来。当哈里森什么都没说时，泰德说话了。 “我想我干完了。让便条见鬼去吧，在范顿太太知道前，我就会把这些档案放回原处。”至少这些话是真的……除非范顿太太刚好从天上往下看。他站起身，暗暗祈祷他的腿别出卖他，让他又跌回椅子中。他看到哈里森正站在门口，根本没看他，耸了口气。片刻之前，泰德说哈里森就站在他身后，气都吹到他脖子上了，但其实哈里森再吃一块饼干，绕过泰德正在看对面几个闲逛的学生。 “嘿，这地方就像死了一样。”警察说。 “在我回家之前，我的家人可能已经死了。” “我们为什么不走呢？”他问哈里森。 "good idea." 泰德向门口走去，哈里森困惑地看着他。“天哪，”他说，“也许教授都这么心不在焉。” 泰德紧张地冲他眨眨眼，然后低下头，看到他一只手还紧握着那个纸团，于是把它扔进废纸篓，但他颤抖的手没有准头，纸团撞在纸篓的边上弹了回来。他还没来得及弯腰捡起它，哈里森从他身边走过，捡起纸团，漫不经心的从一只手扔到另一只手。“你连档案都不拿就要走了吗？”他问。他指指选写作课学生的档案，这些档案被放在打字机边，用一根红橡皮筋捆着。然后他又继续抛那个纸团，从一只手抛到另一只手。泰德从折痕上能看到几个字：任何人他们 “啊，那些，谢谢。” 泰德拿起档案，然后差点儿就把它们摔到地上。现在哈里森会展开手中的纸团，他会这么做的，虽然斯达克现在并没监视他——泰德确信这一点——但他很快就会发现的。当他发现后，他会对丽兹和孩子们干些极为不利的事。 “别客气。”哈里森把纸团扔向废纸篓，它在边沿上几乎绕了一圈，然后摔了进去。“两分。”他说，然后走到走廊，这样泰德就能关上门。 Eight 他走下楼梯，后面跟着两个警察。罗立从他办公室探出身子，祝他暑假愉快，泰德也向他表达了同样的祝愿，至少他觉得自己的声音很正常。他觉得好像在自动驾驶仪上，这种感觉一直持续到他到自己的汽车旁。他把档案扔到乘客座位上时，看到了停车场边的公用电话。 “我要给我妻子打个电话，”他告诉哈里森，“看看她要在商店买什么东西。” “你应该在楼上打，”曼彻斯特说，“那你就能节约二十五美分。” “我忘了，”泰德说，“也许因为我心不在焉。” 两个警察好笑地互相看了一眼，坐上普利茅斯汽车，在车里他们可以开着空调，并能通过挡风玻璃监视他。 泰德感到心脏似乎变成了破碎的玻璃。他从口袋里掏出一枚硬币，把它扔进投币口中。他的手在发抖，把第二个号码拨错了，于是挂上电话，等硬币退出，然后又试一次，他一边想：天哪，就好像米丽艾姆死的那天晚上，就像那天晚上又重现了。 如果没有这种记忆错觉，他可能就拨对了。 第二次他拨对了，他站在那里，把听筒紧紧压在耳朵上，压得耳朵都疼了。他努力让身体放松，不想让哈里森和曼彻斯特知道出事了——决不能让他们知道，但他似乎无法放松肌肉。 电话一响，斯达克拿起话筒：“泰德？” “你对他们干了什么？”就像从嘴里吐干棉球。他能听到双胞胎在大声嚎哭，泰德发现他们的哭声让他感到安慰，这有点儿怪。这哭声不是温蒂从楼梯上摔下时的那种嘶哑的叫喊，而是迷惑的哭声，生气的哭声，但不是受到伤害的哭声。 但是，丽兹呢——丽兹在哪儿？ “什么也没干，”斯达克回答，“你自己可以听出来，我连他们宝贵的小脑袋上的一根毛也没碰，现在还没有。” “丽兹……”泰德说，突然被一种孤独的恐惧淹没，就像被寒冷的大浪吞了进去。 “她怎么了？”嘲笑的语气荒唐而又难以忍受。 “让她听电话！”泰德吼道，“如果你指望我以你的名义再写一个字的话，你让她听电话！”显然，在这种极端的恐惧和惊讶状态中，他心里的一部分仍是清醒的。他告诫自己：注意你的脸，泰德，你只是四分之三是背对警察的，当一个人往家里打电话问他妻子要不要买鸡蛋时，他是不会对着话筒吼的。 “泰德！泰德，老伙计！”斯达克听上去很委屈，但泰德惊恐地确信这狗杂种正咧着嘴。“你太看低我了，伙计，你太瞧不起我了，伙计！冷静一下，她在这儿。” “泰德？泰德，是你吗？”她听上去痛苦而又害怕，但没有惊慌失措，不是很惊慌。 “是我，宝贝，你好吗？孩子们好吗？” “好，我们还好。我们……”她说最后一个字时声音减弱了一点，泰德能听到那狗东西在对她说什么，但听不清具体内容。她说是，好吧，然后又回到电话上，现在她听上去快哭了，“泰德，你必须去做他让你做的事。” "Yes, I know." “但他要我告诉你，你不能在这儿做，警察很快就会过来。他……泰德，他说他杀了那两个监护房子的警察。” 泰德闭上了眼睛。 “我不知道他怎么干的，但他说他干了……而且我……我相信他的话。”现在她开始哭了。她竭力控制自己，知道这会使泰德沮丧，如果他沮丧的话，他会做出危险的事。他紧紧握住电话，使劲压着耳朵，努力显出漫不经心的样子。 斯达克又在背后低声说什么，泰德听到一个词：合作。难以置信，真他妈的难以置信。 “他要把我们带走，”她说，“他说你会知道我们去哪儿。记得玛莎姨妈吗？他说你应该甩掉跟着你的人。他说他知道你能做到，因为他能做到。他要你今晚天黑前与我们会合。他说——”她惊恐地抽泣了一下，然后努力把第二下抽泣咽了回去，“他说你要跟他合作，你和他共同写作，它将是最出色的一本书。他——” 斯达克又在低声说什么。 what!泰德真想把他的手指掐进乔治·斯达克该死的脖子里，直到他的手指穿过皮肉，抠进狗杂种的喉咙。 “他说阿历克斯·马辛死而复生，比以前更强大。”然后她又尖声叫道，“请照他说的做，泰德！他有枪！他有一盏喷灯！一盏小喷灯！他说如果你敢骗他——” “丽兹——” “求求你，泰德，照他说的做！” 她的声音小了，因为斯达克把电话从她手中拿走了。 “告诉我一件事，泰德，”斯达克说，现在他的声音中已没有嘲弄，非常严肃，“告诉我一件事，而且你要说真话，伙计，否则他们会为此付出代价，你明白我的话吗？” "clear." “真的吗？因为她刚才讲喷灯的事是真的。” “真的！真的，他妈的！”“她告诉你记住玛莎姨妈，她他妈的是谁？这是某种暗号吗，泰德？她试图欺骗我吗？” 泰德突然看到他妻子和孩子们的生命悬在一根非常细的线上。这不是比喻，这是泰德能看到的东西。那根线是蓝色的，像冰一样透明，像游丝一样纤细，几乎看不见。所有的一切都归结到两件事上——他说什么，乔治·斯达克信什么。 “录音装置从电话上拆除了吗？” “当然拆除了！”斯达克说，“你认为我是什么人，泰德？” “你让丽兹接电话时，她知道吗？” 沉默了一会儿，然后斯达克说：“她只要看一下就知道了，电线就扔在该死的地上。” “但她知道吗？她看了吗？” “别跟我绕弯子，泰德。” “她试图用暗示的方法告诉我你们要去哪儿。”泰德告诉他，努力保持一种耐心的、讲课式的语调——耐心，但有点儿居高临下。他不知道斯达克听出来没有，但他猜斯达克很快就会以某种方式让他知道的。“她指的是夏季别墅，在罗克堡。玛莎·泰尔福德是丽兹的姨妈，我们不喜欢她。每次她打电话说她要来访，我们就想逃到罗克堡，躲在夏季别墅中，直到她死去。现在我们已经说了，如果他们在我们的电话上装了无线录音装置，乔治，那只能怪你。” 他全身冒汗，等着看斯达克是否相信这话……或在他所爱的人和永恒之间惟一的细线是否会突然断裂。 “他们没有装，”斯达克终于开口了，他的声音听上去又放松了。泰德真想在电话间上靠一靠，闭上眼松口气，但他忍住了。“如果我再次看到你的话，丽兹，”他想，我会因为你冒这么大的危险拧断你的脖子。”只是如果他再见到她的话，他猜他真正想做的就是亲吻她，一直吻到她透不过气来。 “别伤害他们，”他对着电话说，“请别伤害他们，无论你要什么，我都会做的。” “啊，我知道。我知道你会的，泰德。我们将一起写作，至少开头部分是这样。你马上行动吧。甩掉跟你的警察，然后赶往罗克堡，尽快赶到那里，但别快得引起别人注意，那就错了。你可以考虑换车，但具体细节还是你自己考虑吧——毕竟你是个很有创造力的家伙。如果你要他们活着，天黑前赶到那里。别捣鬼。你明白我的话吗？别捣鬼，别耍小聪明。” "I will not." “很好。你不会的。伙计，你要做的，就是遵守游戏规则。如果你捣鬼，等你赶到那里时，你只会看到几具尸体和一盘你妻子临死前诅咒你的磁带。” 咯嚓一声，电话断了。 Nine 当他走回自己的汽车时，曼彻斯特摇下普利茅斯汽车乘客座位一侧的窗户，问家里是否一切都好。泰德从他眼中看出这并非闲聊，他从泰德脸上看出了什么。But that's okay.泰德认为自己能应付得了，毕竟他是一个创造力的家伙，他的大脑像日本高速列车一样在默默的飞速运转。问题呈现在面前：撒谎还是说实话？和以前一样，这没有什么好争论的。 “一切都好，”他说，语调自然轻松，“孩子们脾气很大，如此而已。丽兹也跟着脾气很大。”他的声音提高了一点儿，“我们离家后你们俩就一直有点儿不安。能告诉我发生了什么事吗？” 即使在这样紧急的情况下，他仍此感到内疚。确实发生了什么事——但他这个知情人却不说实话。 “没什么事，”坐在方向盘后面的哈里森身体前倾，对他说道，“我们和留在家里的查特顿和埃丁斯联系不上，就这么点事，也许他们进屋了。” “丽兹说她刚做了点儿冰茶。”泰德随口撒谎说。 “那就对了，”哈里森说，对泰德笑笑，泰德又感到一阵内疚，“我们到那儿时也许还能剩下一点，对吗？” “什么事都可能的。”泰德砰地关上了他的汽车门，把钥匙插进孔中，手像木头一样麻木。问题在他头脑中飞速旋转：斯达克和他家人已离开去罗克堡了吗？他希望这样——他希望他们被绑架的消息在警方通讯网中传开之前，他们已经安全离开。如果他们乘丽兹的汽车被人发现，或如果他们还在鲁德娄，那就麻烦了，太麻烦了。他竟然希望斯达克顺利逃走，这真充满讽刺意味，但这正是他现在的处境。 说到逃走，他怎么才能甩掉哈里森和曼彻斯特呢？那是另一个问题。靠加快速度甩掉他们是不可能的。他们开的普利茅斯汽车看上去很破旧，但它强有力的发动机声表明它能在任何路上行驶。他认为他能把他们甩掉——他已经想好了怎么和在哪里做——但开到罗克堡还有一百六十里的路程，他怎么能避免被再次发现呢？ 他一点儿办法也没有……他只知道他必须设法做到。 “记得玛莎姨妈吗？” 他对斯达克所做的解释纯属瞎扯，而斯达克确信以为真了。由此看来那狗杂种并不完全了解他的思想。玛莎是丽兹的姨妈，这是真的，他们曾躺在床上说要躲开她，但他们所谈的是躲到像阿鲁巴或塔希提那样的外国地方去……因为玛莎姨妈对罗克堡非常了解，她到那儿看望他们的次数比到鲁德娄的次数多得多。在罗克堡，玛莎姨妈最喜欢的地方就是垃圾场。她是全国步枪协会的会员，总是按时教会费，她喜欢在垃圾场射杀老鼠。 “如果你要她离开，”泰德记得有次他对丽兹说，“那只有你自己去对她说，她是你姨妈。而且我害怕如果我告诉她，她会用那支枪来打我。” 丽兹说：“我想血缘关系也没什么用，她眼里有一种凶光……”她假装害怕地哆嗦了一下，然后咯咯笑起来，捅捅他的肋骨，“你去吧，上帝讨厌胆小鬼，告诉她我们是环境保护者，连对老鼠也一样。泰德，走到她面前去，说，'走吧，玛莎姨妈！你已经杀死了垃圾场最后一只老鼠！打点行李走吧！'” 当然，他们谁也没开口叫玛莎姨妈走，她还是每天去垃圾场远征，她在那里射死了几十只老鼠。最后，幸福的日子终于来到了，泰德开车送她去波特兰德机场，把她送上了回爱尔尼的飞机。在门口，她令人难堪的双手用力握手——好像她刚结束一次商业谈判而不是告别——并告诉他她明年可能还会来看望他们。“我他妈射得太棒了，”她说，“肯定射死了六、七打那些传染病菌的小东西。” 她再也没回来过，虽然有一次她差点儿就来了。 她最后一次来访后，“记住玛莎姨妈”就成了暗语，就像“记住缅因州”一样。它